I’m feeling woozy from the orgasm and the emotional whiplash of him.
“Of course not.” He kisses me softly, gathering me in his arms. I do not trust him at all.
“Let me run you a bath, wrap you in blankets.”
“I’m fine.”
His features shift again to fury. “That’s how you want to be? Then you can sit here in your own pussy juice and think about how stubborn and impossible you’re being.”
28
MCCARTHY
Igrab my gun from the shelf and strap the holster around my shoulders, still feeling the phantom of Jenna in my arms.
Other billionaires use bodyguards, let themselves be carted around the world like Truman in his little pink bag.
Not me.
Why should any government trust my defense company if I can’t defend myself?
But Jenna? She is a sitting target.
The picture from her phone is disturbing. It’s a Photoshopped picture of her from the fake funeral, mid-scream, with someone in a mask behind her, Photoshopped like he was engaging in some sex act as she bent over a coffin.
“The death of your pussy,” reads the caption.
Jenna doesn’t need to see that, and I don’t need to indulge her independent-woman shtick any longer either.
Crawford shows up twenty minutes after I call.
“Don’t think you’re getting a friends-and-family discount,” my older half brother warns, stopping to pet a yawning Truman. “Salinger didn’t say you got a dog. That’s a big step for you.”
“He’s part of your protection detail.” I’m brusque.
“Interesting.” Crawford accepts my list of suspects.
“I need your men to watch out for these bullet sponges. There are probably more. I’ll update you as I find out. You can talk to Anton downstairs for a list of approved residents and visitors.”
Crawford salutes.
“Wait.” I sit at my computer and, after a moment of searching, print out the photos of Jenna’s ex-stepfather and stepbrother from dinner and add them to the list out of spite. “Them too.”
“This girl a drug dealer or something? How does one little girl have a laundry list of people after her?”
“She attracts them like flies.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t see a permanent address in here.” He flips through the paperwork.
“She is currently living in a car in my garage.”
Crawford’s silent a moment. Then: “Bro…”
“Post your men up at all the exits to the parking garage level,” I order.
Crawford makes a disgusted noise. “Can’t you just bring the girl up here? That’s easier for us.”
“No.”
